


i have seen the tops of clouds

by Eddaic



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Profanity, Sakanobu, Slash, mature themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8505688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eddaic/pseuds/Eddaic
Summary: There is not a crevice for pity in a great shogun.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jackopancake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackopancake/gifts).



 Warnings for mature themes, implied sexual content, and character death.

**i have seen the tops of clouds**

It is a spring day like those in fairy tales, all off-white skies and sakura trees laden with blossoms, when his father's guards kick around a man whose cart bumped against the Hitotsubashi car. The scratch on the metal is like a fine hair.

Nobunobu is a big boy now; it would be cowardly to look away.

Fists behind his back like a good son (he has always been a good son, always done as told, always listened never talked childrenshouldbeseenandnotheard), he learns by rote like he would a history lesson and hammers down the pity that throbs in his chest.

There is not a crevice for pity in a great shogun. He knows that. He knows he knows he _knows_.

***

His cousin hauls him to a whorehouse tucked in a warren of ill-lit streets. ("No way, not Yoshiwara; they get uppity and even we can't do shit about it.")

Nobunobu's never touched a woman – his late father forbade him to do so till he was seventeen – but he's been curious. He slaps down the cash for the most expensive prostitute and tries to stop his knees from shaking when she glides into the room and bows. He's already forgotten her name. Kumiko or Kyoko or something. Under the lamps her skin glows like moonlight and she is so refined she is almost icy, like a goddess who has enough power in her pinky to burn cities to ashes, like something she is not supposed to be.

His palms are damp with sweat. He's hard but he's _enraged_. His head swims; he doesn't know why he's feeling any of this. He's about to piss his pants so he snaps, "You'd better service me well." His voice emerges several octaves higher than what he considers dignified, and he flushes.

The woman's smile (dark red like rust, like old blood) is sweet, though patronisation gleams in her eyes. She is ten years older than him, but what does she know? She's probably just some dumb country hick sold here by her parents. Nobunobu doubts she even knows how to read. _He_ has the best tutors in all of Japan. "Did you know the colour you use to whiten your skin is poisonous?" he blabbers.

Her smile grows wider and she tilts her head to one side. "I didn't. Why don't you tell me more, sir?"

After fifteen minutes he pitches a porcelain vase against a wall, narrowly missing her head. Outside his cousin claps a comforting hand on his shoulder; Nobunobu wants to rip it right off his wrist. "These women," his cousin says with a tense laugh. "They charge you and then expect you to stop at random. I swear they do it deliberately to piss you off."

Nobunobu waits till he's seventeen. Then he orders the brothel to be shut down and makes sure he is standing there while it happens. He doesn't see the woman anywhere.

***

Sakamoto Tatsuma struts around with a carefree, toothy grin, like he hadn't pointed a fucking pistol at Nobunobu's skull, isn't still holding him hostage like some common prisoner. Nobunobu's fingers itch to skewer him with a sword, to have sticky-hot blood sliding over his hands.

His stomach is dry with hunger but he knocks the tray aside. Sakamoto Tatsuma bounds in and makes _another_ joke, this bastard, this insignificant merchant who thinks he is so powerful, this worthless wide-eyed pup who believes he can salvage a dying nation. He keeps _talking_ , Shogun-sama this and Shogun-sama that; his insolence is mind-boggling. And Sakamoto Tatsuma is never more insolent than when he is being polite.

He says _Shogun-sama_ half-mockingly, half-reverently. It is as if he is acknowledging Nobunobu's position – but throbbing beneath his words is a searing, unspoken diatribe on the way Nobunobu uses it.

Then, _then_ , he goes where no one else has ever gone for Nobunobu. "Ya don't have any value to be useful for anything now."

And the heavens crash down.

***

They eat together, once, twice. Shoulders brushing warm against each other, teeth working bites off chewy buns and minds being refreshed and muscles flexing, rejuvenated. After they eat, they run (and dodgeduckstumble), and Nobunobu, absurdly, feels laughter bubble in his chest.

***

Two months into the war Sakamoto Tatsuma's eyes are dead like his old comrade. Nobunobu tries to remember his full name. Kogoro? Wait, Kotarou. Yes, Katsura Kotarou, with his dark hair and dark eyes and sombre mouth, Katsura Kotarou with his delicate gait and modest garb. Katsura Kotarou like a broken puppet on the wetted earth, his dark hair splayed like seaweed and his dark eyes reflecting the stars and his modest garb painted a royal red.

Sakamoto slumps against a wall with his legs stretched out before him. He hadn't cried, not once. Nobunobu looks at him, at his pallid face, his slack jaw, and swears revenge for Sakamoto's dead brother and his dead eyes.

***

It comes late, his retribution, and it is cold but not sweet.

Sakamoto has not laughed in a long time, has not expressed much of anything. Yet now he clasps his knees and lurches back and forth and _wails_ , like an animal shot and pleading for death, and Nobunobu is torn between being terrified and being relieved to see the ice around Sakamoto's heart slowly thawing.

***

Nobunobu would have preferred to be scratched off the records of history, or at least shrouded under the radiance of greater leaders – but he will forever be remembered as a spectacular failure of a man who brought the Meiji era to its knees. No matter, he tells himself. The title is not heavier than the guilt, and he is not rotting away in prison. He'd say he was let off pretty easy.

But despite his (admitted) ineptitude, he has always been a man of action. Such idleness does not suit him. When alone – and he is alone more than he'd like to admit – he is preoccupied by bright eyes turned skywards and the edge of a grin.

***

The brothels and bars offer little comfort. First Nobunobu thinks it's because they're women. Then he casts furtive glances at men on the streets, visits _different_ bars, and they're all wrong, wrong, wrong. Men, women, _anyone_ , their hair is too straight and their eyes too tired and their smiles too subdued. On the trains they plug up their ears and sit timidly like they're ashamed of being alive.

At a bar Nobunobu asks one of the men to laugh and he looks at him as if he's stark raving mad.

Maybe he is.

***

The voice at the other end of the line is heavy with sleep. "Nnyeah?"

"Sakamoto," is all Nobunobu can manage. His hands are still trembling. He hears shuffling and then a squawk, "Why, if it isn't Hitotsubashi Nobunobu! Ahahahahaha, what's the meaning of this? Ya need something? Ya in trouble again?"

"Uh." Nobunobu tries to ignore the sting. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself_ , he thinks furiously. _You don't have that privilege anymore_. "No."

Something in his tone must sound off, because Sakamoto says, gentle but not pitying, "Why did you call, Nobunobu-san?"

Nobunobu means to ask after Sakamoto, enquire about his latest business deals, see how Mutsu is doing. He means to sound courteous and also vaguely cold so that Sakamoto won't think – won't _realise_ – he's just some hopeless case searching for a friend. He's got a list of polite questions scribbled on a yellow sticky note in front of him. "When are you coming to Earth next?" is what tumbles out of his mouth.

There is a silence. Nobunobu begins to sweat. _That goddamn_ filter _between your brain and your tongue, Nobunobu!_ he thinks viciously. _Use it! Now he knows just how_ desperate _you are and he's going to put down the phone because unlike you he has loads of people to occupy his time and –  
_

***

Sakamoto plumps down his sake cup and stretches like a lazy cat. "Sorry if this little stall ain't up to your standards, Nobunobu-san."

His cheeks are rosy-pink and his sunglasses are pushed up into his hair, and his lopsided smile is _doing_ things to Nobunobu's belly so he has to peer down into his sake and hate himself in silence. "My standards?" he murmurs. "You're one of the most successful businessmen in the galaxy. Don't tell me you're not used to alcohol a hundred times more expensive than this."

"Ahahaha, you got me there." Sakamoto straightens and takes another sip, suddenly sobering. "Why'd you wanna see me?"

Nobunobu purses his lips. "I...don't know."

Sakamoto looks at him, his blue eyes half-lidded from alcohol.

"I guess I just wanted to meet you," Nobunobu mumbles and brings his cup to his lips so he can appear distracted. Now that he's said what he wanted to say, he just has to wait for Sakamoto to tease him, promise to share drinks next time too, and never see him again.

Sakamoto doesn't speak for a long time. Nobunobu is about to slide off his chair and declare oh look at the time and apologise for being odd when Sakamoto says, with a tone of slight wonderment, like he can't quite believe Nobunobu, "That's flattering."

Nobunobu's throat is thick. When he speaks his voice emerges hoarse. "I'm not flattering you."

"I know."

"I'm sorry, I've...I've not been myself."

"It's okay. Happens."

"I suppose so."

"Join the Kaientai."

"Things have been rather –  _what_?"

Sakamoto says ya heard me, and Nobunobu shakes his head and replies you're so drunk, you'll call me in the morning and say it's all a mistake, I won't take you seriously, I won't, you don't even like me. Who says I don't like you says Sakamoto, and Nobunobu has to order another cup of sake because his head is spinning and his stomach feels weird like he's falling from a height and he's sure, quite sure, it's not because of the alcohol.

***

He says he doesn't know what to do and Sakamoto looks up from his book. "Whaddya mean?"

"I mean I...you asked me to join the Kaientai, but I don't know if you meant permanently or...and I don't know if I should return to Earth, try to make amends, maybe start a charity or something..."

Sakamoto gazes at him, stroking his lower lip with a finger, and Nobunobu begins to squirm. At length he says, "You ain't good for much, I'll give you that. You got no specialised skills, you're shit with weapons, and for the longest time you thought giving orders is the equivalent of being a leader."

Nobunobu studies the wooden floor, his face burning.

"Then again, I'm not much better," says Sakamoto, smiling.

Nobunobu looks up, dazed.

"As for me, I'd be happy for you to stay. But this isn't a slave ship – you can always leave; I'm not gonna hold that against you. And you can always come back."

"But what will I do here?"

Sakamoto shrugs and opens his book again. "Secretarial work – God knows we need it – and maybe some accounting. I can enrol you in business classes, if you want, so we could even work together..."

***

It's Sakamoto's birthday and everyone's asleep but they're both swaying on a sofa in a sitting room, an almost-empty bottle of wine on the table in front of them. Outside the portholes a net of stars slips by.

Nobunobu yawns and then looks at Sakamoto, who is sprawled on the couch like a starfish; a party hat is still perched lopsidedly in his curls. He feels something rising in his chest and at first he thinks it's bile but then realises it's just words. "You're a pathetic case," he finds himself blurting.

Sakamoto glances at him curiously. "Aha?" he says and hiccups.

"You think you're so smart and influential but your subordinates treat you however they want. You're no merchant; you're just a con man, a really good con man. You're an embarrassment to nature. You have such a stupid laugh and weird hair and honestly you're not even that handsome so," Nobunobu grabs Sakamoto by the coat lapels and kisses him, clumsy and wet. Sakamoto makes a muffled, rather shrill, "Hnnmmgh?" sound and flings his arms around windmill fashion.

They part. Sakamoto looks utterly gob-smacked, his glasses crooked and clothes dishevelled, and Nobunobu grins so wide his cheeks hurt. Then Sakamoto laughs, breathy chuckles that turn into booming guffaws, and Nobunobu laughs too, and they put their hands on each other's faces and run their fingers through each other's hair. The party hat tumbles to the floor. For some reason that only makes them laugh harder, and they end up toppling off and landing in a tangled heap and squashing the hat.

***

Nobunobu doesn't wake up, because he never slept. He wonders (as he did all night) if Sakamoto hates him because he kissed him while they were drunk, if he's going to get booted out of the Kaientai pirate-style, and if Mutsu will take her time in eviscerating him.

He staggers to the cafeteria for breakfast, a headache pounding behind his eyes. Grabbing a rice bowl and a coffee, he collapses at a table by a porthole. A second later he almost faints because Sakamoto slams a tray down in front of him and crows, "Mornin', slacker! Ahahaha, you look like you've been shot."

Nobunobu chokes out a greeting and shovels rice into his mouth, hoping that it's poisoned and that he'll drop dead the next second.

"Hey, hey, Nobunobu-sama," continues Sakamoto with gleeful deliberation, "if you wanna be seen with me, you're gonna have to get rid of that ugly haircut."

- _finis_ -

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Moots! Hope the years ahead are filled with joy. 
> 
> Title taken from 'The Message'. 
> 
> Zura and Sakamoto are my favourites, so I like hurting them.


End file.
